


on the road to hell

by doorwaytoparadise



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: F/M, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-05-16 18:22:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14816487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doorwaytoparadise/pseuds/doorwaytoparadise
Summary: a collection of hadestown ficlets i've posted on tumblr. mostly post-canon





	1. wanderer

Orpheus watches a lantern swing and flinches.

No matter how many seasons pass, he still feels like the creeping gloom of the Underworld is still at his heels. Flickering shadows and chill wind at his back have him hurrying away to somewhere, anywhere, to get away. He never stays in one place anymore, haunted by the memory of Eurydice. Her smile, her voice, the way she looked in autumn light and how it felt to hold her in his arms. He sees her everywhere, like a ghost in a crowd, and the look on her face when he turned just a touch too early is seared on the back of his eyelids.

Orpheus runs.

He runs and moves and keeps going, stomping dirt off his shoes from a hundred different roads. He takes shelter in forests, in rundown buildings, in hidden nightclubs, restless and full of regrets. He had once been hopeful and idealistic, a free-spirited artist who lived off the land and was content. He can’t remember what that felt like. The world was dim, everything that he had seen before, all the beauty and what could be was no longer there. Her name was lodged at the back of his throat, coating his tongue like bitter wine and Orpheus felt like he was drowning.

That first spring alone, Persephone had found him. She was sad and soft and didn’t say a word, sitting down beside him in the smoke-filled bar he had found. He was still numb with sorrow, feeling emptier than he ever had, even as _ragegriefshock_ churned through him, and had barely looked at her. She bought him a drink.

Several hours later, they stumbled into the cool night and she rubbed his back as he finally broke down in tears.

There are days when he’s walking that he can feel Hermes. The messenger god is the patron god of travelers, after all, and he had tried to help them as best he could.

Sometimes, he’ll stop at a crossroads and wait, and Hermes will appear beside him. His eyes are weary and sad and Orpheus wonders how many tragedies he’s seen play out, how many sad stories he could tell if he asked. Orpheus never asks. They never say much, but this too eases something in his chest.

Some days are better than others, as time passes, and Orpheus eventually picks up his lyre again. He can’t find it in himself to compose anything, but he plays all his old songs and it almost lessens the sting of losing Eurydice. He still falters sometimes, still chokes on his words or wakes up calling for her, but the earth came back every year that it died, and so Orpheus goes on.

One day, Orpheus will stop running. One day, Orpheus will walk into the Underworld and be able to look Eurydice in the eye. There’s a part of him that still hopes for the best in everything, and that part hopes that it won’t be so bad. It hopes that Hades is softer, that Persephone is more content, that Eurydice will forgive him. One day, he’ll find out if his hopes are true. But right now, he still isn’t ready. Orpheus keeps walking.


	2. work

When Eurydice first came to the Underworld, her life became the work. Things were hard, things were busy, things were endless, and there was hardly any time to think about what she left behind. There was no time to reminisce, barely time to even look around. But…

There were no seasons in the Underworld.

That was one thing Eurydice noticed, a jarring little detail that stuck with her and sat among the thoughts of what needed to be done next. There was no real way to measure the passage of time, not really, beyond the coming and going of Persephone, and the days, for as much as they could be called ‘days’, blended together. Things become hazy in the Underworld.

Days and seasons, heat and cold, memories and lovers.

Eurydice keeps working, because what else can she do. She moves and walks and works and keeps her head low low low. She misses flowers and the sound of running water, sunlight dappled through trees and birds singing in the early morning. She misses the first bite of fresh fruit, how wheat sways in the breeze, and what it feels like to get caught in the rain. She remembers being held and loved and wanted and misses so much so badly, she lets it all become hazy too, just to save herself the pain. Eurydice had been hungry, once. Now she aches in a different way.

Then, Orpheus comes bursting into the underworld, bright and sharp and beautiful, a single spot of focus in the faded blurred monotony. He fights for her, victory in the strum of his lyre, his raised voice, the poetry he can spin from nothing. Once, he had won her over with his song. Now, he wins over the king of the underworld himself. Hades lets them go, but in the end, so does Orpheus. She only has a brief shocked second to look at his face, a tragedy in the turn of his head, and its over.

Eurydice felt her heart break every time she remembered how it ended, but she kept the memory close, because it was the only thing clear she had. Eurydice goes back to work.


	3. life

In the Underworld, there is nothing alive aside from the gods that rule it.

But just on the edge of the border between the land of the living and the dead, in the shadows of an entrance around the back, there is a small patch of flowers. No one knows it’s there, sitting just beyond the light, small and ghostly in color.

There is one day Persephone finds herself going another way home. Some spark of curiosity, a sudden urge for something different, and she wanders around the border of her kingdom looking for some other path inside. Somewhere in between abandoned railroad tracks and overgrown greenery, she finds the opening. Cool stone despite the sunlight, gaping into the familiar darkness of the underworld, with scraps of wood and steel scattered around hardly make the cave-like entrance look welcoming, but Persephone supposes that’s the point. She steps across the threshold and stops to let her eyes adjust, and the momentary pause is what lets her see it.

Poking out of the dirt and off to the side, the little flowers sit innocently in a place they by all means shouldn’t exist, no matter how close it is to where they can. Persephone stares. No life that isn’t immortal can exist in the realm of Hades, and yet.

Persephone crouches to reach the delicate-looking petals, feeling the life beneath her fingers, connected to nature as she is. There are echoes of promises and waiting and sorrow in the blooms, and she sighs mournfully when she realizes. The flowers sit in the spot Eurydice had once been, so tantalizingly close to freedom before Orpheus had turned.

Persephone spends a good few minutes simply staring, thinking about the doomed couple and their love, about her own nearly doomed relationship and how one tragedy helped mend another.

Hades finds her still crouched in the hazy half-light, as he melts out of the darker depths of the underworld. His sunglasses cover his eyes, but she can still see his eyebrow raised in question. She only tilts her head at the flowers, a faint sadness in her face. His other eyebrow raises and she can see the moment he realizes the little plant’s origin as well. He takes a moment to stare, like her, before offering a hand to help her up. She accepts.

“I suppose,” Hades begin, quiet though he doesn’t need to be, “in some cases, love can’t be killed, even under hardship.”

Persephone turns to look at him, even though he’s looking away, studies the lines of his face, the tilt of his mouth, how his fingers tap his thigh a few times like they do when he’s nervous. She smiles.

“I suppose.” She agrees, and starts walking further into the land of the dead, utterly confident he would follow.

In the Underworld, there is nothing alive aside from the gods that rule it. Only the gods that rule it and a small patch of flowers born from a love that never dies.


	4. swing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eurydice-centric, kind of sad

Eurydice remembers a lonely childhood, days spent sitting on a wooden swing and simply wanting. Wanting family and love and warmth, an ache ringing down to her core. She would sway a little, inching back and forth, and watch the way the dirt shifted underfoot. The world kept moving, changing in cycles, but Eurydice felt trapped. Food and money, fire in the winter, work and struggle and pain. Sometimes everything would become too much, worries and fears rising like a wall to block her in, so Eurydice would plant her feet and push.

The swing was old but reliable, and for a moment, Eurydice hung in the air, wind whipping past and nothing but sky across her vision. She was floating, flying, _free_. Then the drop, the downwards pull, and Eurydice fell back to the earth, a movement that scattered her frenzied thoughts into nothingness. Once, when she felt particularly daring, she let herself fly from the seat at the peak of the swing’s arc. There was a moment of stillness, a suspension of time, where she hung motionless in the air and she was breathless with wonder and exhilaration. Then gravity kicked in. Eurydice hit the ground, and she never made such a leap again.

And then, Orpheus. He is warm hands and laughter, honey on her tongue. A bright presence in an otherwise dull world. Around her is brown and gray and dull tones, muted and muddied colors that whisper _cold, lonely, harsh_. Orpheus is reds and pinks and burning-bright yellow. He tastes like ripe fruit and holding him is like soaring at the crest of her childhood swing. Orpheus smiles and she floats. Orpheus sings and she flies. Orpheus loves her and she feels bold enough to want to jump mid-air again.

Eurydice is swinging up and up, buoyed by Orpheus and everything he brings. And it’s a beautiful spring and summer they spend together, all blooming flowers and full cups. Persephone sweeps among them, and Eurydice thinks it feels like looking out over endless sky, wind in her hair.

But the earth calls her back, a downward pull on the swing, a need for material goods. She’s falling, she’s hungry. The wind is at her back and she watches the sky become ground as her momentum slows, going down and down and down. Eurydice boards the train to Hadestown.

Eurydice is at the bottom, the lowest point, and she feels her heels dig into the dirt as she sweeps by. She keeps her head low and works and tries to ignore the feeling of being trapped. Then, Orpheus finds her in the darkness. The ground falls away again, her feet dangling as she begins to climb once more, but backwards, unable to see the path. A breath, a precious moment as Eurydice hangs in the air, and she swings back down. Hades is a wall in and of himself. He raises his head and snarls, old and tired and angry, and Orpheus stares him down. Persephone eyes them all with something between compassion and sadness. The ground nears again.

Orpheus sings and Eurydice’s heart flutters. Orpheus sings and Persephone softens. Orpheus sings and Hades remembers. The swing begins to climb forward. Hades lets them go. Eurydice lifts her feet and does not scrape the dirt this time.

Eurydice remembers how she had trusted, with the unwavering faith of a child, in the reliability of the swing. How, even as it flew back and forth, she knew it would never let her fall. She follows Orpheus, trusting and hopeful, emotions that feel too big for her chest rising and swelling. He had given her light in the darkness, love in loneliness, warmth in the cold. She remembers slow dancing, lazy summer afternoons, the way sunlight dappled through trees and how the river sounded after a heavy rain. She remembers floating, flying, freedom.

Eurydice follows Orpheus to the edge of the underworld. The swing hits its peak. A breathless moment of wonder and exhilaration, a spark of faith, and Eurydice jumps from the swing. Orpheus turns just a little too soon. Time seems to freeze. Eurydice hangs in the air.

“You’re early.”

“I missed you.”

Orpheus is gone. Eurydice hits the ground.


	5. follow

Hades and Persephone are both stuck. In duties, in cycles, and in love but so out of tune it hurts. The seasons turn in a cycle, and Persephone is bound to the passing of time, always leaving and returning, leaving and returning. Like a circle, like a wheel, their lives turn, controlled by something they can’t touch, even as gods. Like clockwork, every six months, Hades stands on a train station and watches Persephone walk away. 

At first, the parting was mutually heartbreaking, a naked longing still etched in Persephone’s face, still turned to face him until she couldn’t anymore. Time passed and years passed, and arguments grew. Bitterness and anger and fights, loneliness turning to a fever pitch. The Underworld churned with Hades’ longing and somewhere along the way, the burning bright force of their love began to fizzle. Now, Persephone swept away from him, rarely sparing a glance back, and Hades wondered where exactly it had gone wrong. The image of her back turned, head held high and vanishing into a crowd, seared itself in his mind, and he tried to push the thought away that someday he might step off the train and she would no longer be there. 

The cycle continued, and Hades and Persephone dropped further into a bitter spiral, neither really knowing how to stop. Hades brooded and Persephone glared. The Underworld shook with machinery, their fights, and all the things that still went unsaid. The earth kept turning, the seasons kept changing, Persephone kept leaving, and Hades stared at the ceiling and wondered if things would be better if he could just go with her.

-

Orpheus and Eurydice are young, a reflection of Hades and Persephone in a multitude of ways, like a fragmented mirror. Times are hard, and the winter is harsh above, and Eurydice, cold and hungry and struggling, makes a choice.

Eurydice is stuck now, but she made her choice and signed the contract, and Hades stubbornly pushes away any guilt he might feel when he remembers the wary hopeful look she had given him when he made his offer. He has a realm to run, and all his workers wanted something he could give them, and he doesn’t have the time to waste feeling sorry for people who walked here willingly, when he’s still bound to the turning of the seasons. 

When Orpheus comes stumbling into the Underworld, Hades sees idealism, naivete, and foolishness. He’s dismissive and maybe a little impressed that the young man managed to walk the whole way, but mostly he’s resentful. Because Orpheus is a young man who watched his love walk away from him, who had to stand and face the knowledge that he got left behind, and who managed to find a way to follow her. 

Orpheus saw Eurydice go where he shouldn’t be able to follow, but he said ‘ _no_ ’, he said ‘ _wait, I’m coming too_ ’, and Hades wants so badly to do the same. Hades sits and waits and wonders and hurts, and Orpheus got to come after Eurydice. And everything familiar that reflects back to him from this young couple stings like Persephone pulling away. Bitterness and jealousy roll in his chest and he stays as unyielding as the wall he’s building before even his wife’s pleas. 

But Orpheus opens his mouth and captures every heart that hears him, and Hades is not immune. Love found its way to the land of the dead, and for a moment, the harsh neon lights look like sunlight in a garden, and Persephone only has eyes for him once more. 

They take each others hands and dance, and Hades thinks, holding Persephone so close, that they’ve been stuck for too long. With Orpheus and Eurydice, perhaps the cycle can end. Hades knows how this can go, how this story might turn out, but for now, there’s a song and a dance and old love unfurling like flowers in the spring.


End file.
